Live For Love
by nearlymorning
Summary: Takes place on the anniversary of Mia's parents death, 20 years later. Pretty fluffy, but there's a more serious undertone as well.


Live For Love

 **(Mia's POV)**

It's been 20 years. 240 months, 1, 043 weeks since the accident. 7, 304 days since the day I lost my family in a car crash. 175, 316 hours and 25 minutes since I last ran my fingers through Teddy's hair, or inhaled the scent of my dad's pipe tobacco, or heard the sound of my mom's laugh. A whole two decades since I faced the hardest decision of my life. But I chose to wake up. I chose to _stay_ , with Willow and Henry, Kim, my grandparents, and Adam. I chose to live.

 _Live for love_ as the sign in our family's music room reads, a faint reminder of the incident many years back. I picture this sign, hanging amongst the instruments and other shenanigans of my family's most used room and smile. Imagining my family, now and then, playing together. I can hear my cello and Adam's guitar (with echoes of my dad's guitar in the background) in harmony, and hear occasional bursts of piano keys and drum beats as our two children contribute to this little band.

It's the morning of the 23rd, the anniversary of my parent's deaths and simultaneously the day I woke up from a coma. Recalling the memories and sounds of my family band, it takes me a while realize the instruments I'm hearing aren't just coming from my mind.

 _Teddy._ I glance at my clock which blinks back at me. 3:08 am. Great. I groan internally. Couldn't I lie in bed for just one more hour? Especially considering the day that I'll have to face tomorrow? But I'm already rubbing my tired eyes and pushing my feet into the cello-varnished slippers a student gave me last semester. Quietly slipping out of bed, I tiptoe downstairs, as to not wake Charlie and Adam. However, I realize it is in vain as I arrive at the entrance of the music room. Both my husband and our two sons are wide awake and look like they have been for at least an hour. All three of them are crowded on the giant beanbags we bought last Christmas, and are so absorbed in the song Adam is plucking on his guitar that they don't notice me for a full minute. I silently lean on the doorway and smile with motherly awe as watch them, so immersed in their music, so much like me.

Then my youngest son, Charlie looks up and shouts "Mommy!" and the spell is broken.

Adam looks up ruefully and offers me a sheepish grin. "I... uh... We were just... Teddy couldn't sleep so I took him down here to practice... And well, Charlie wanted to come to so here we are." _Softie._ I scoff under my breath. Nightly (aka 2 am in the morning) jam sessions are sometimes a daily routine, but lately we've been trying to wean the boys to wake up at slightly more normal time. I place my hands on my hips and try to sound stern.

"I was up late getting lesson plans and was finally getting some sleep until you guys started jamming out down here like party animals. Can't a mom just get one more hour of sleep for once?" All three of my boys look down guilty. They know how hard it is teaching 3 advanced cello classes.

"Sorry, mom." Teddy pulls his puppy dog face. His eyes are so much like his father's, swimming with various shades of green and brown and grey, that I can't even pretend to be angry. Sighing, more in affection than exasperation, I walk over to Adam. I lean over for a quick kiss and ruffle my son's heads in turn. Teddy's hair is dark brown and slightly scruffy, a perfect blend of my waves and Adam's chocolatey-colored mess, while Charlie's hair is a shade of blonde and full of tight, neat curls. A pang grips my heart as I remember stroking the same head of hair on my little brother, Teddy, this morning two decades ago. _He would be 27 now_ I think abruptly. _He never got to grow up or fall in love or get married or father his own curly-haired child. He never got to experience this_ ** _;_** I swallow as I think about my family now with my loving husband and beautiful kids.

"Mom?" I meet my 9-year old's concerned eyes to realize a teardrop has escaped my eye and planted itself upon his golden head.

Adam speaks up in the same soft tone. "Mia? Are you okay?" I meet his gaze, expecting pity, but all I see is love. He knows. Of course he knows, just as he does every year. He knows it's the anniversary of the accident and that we won't talk about it until I'm ready. The jokingly annoyed mood in the room has gone serious, my sons realize as they gaze imploringly at me with large eyes. I am overwhelmed with of surge of gratitude for these wonderful human beings I call my family. Hastily, I wipe my eyes and offer a smile. It's tentative and small, but at least it's genuine.

"I'm okay. Let's just play." I carefully make my way over to my cello and plop down in a beanbag with it on my lap. The boys are confused, but jubilant that their midnight jam session is not going to be stopped and excitedly scramble over to their respective instruments. With Teddy at the piano and Charlie at the drums, in unison, they begin playing with Adam and I.

And just like that, I am okay. Until dawn, we play, tunes new and old and imaginary, yet all laced with sadness and longing and, love. Our music is like nothing I have ever heard before. For a single moment, we are one being, producing sounds so raw and full that I begin to cry. However, for the first time in years, I am not crying about the loss that I endured on this day twenty years ago. Today, it is not sadness, but happiness, that allows me to be transported by this music, and cry happy tears. As we begin to play one of my dad's old songs from his band days, I listen to the lyrics.

 _Well, what is this?_

 _What am I coming to?_

 _And beyond that, what am I gonna do?_

 _Now there's blankness_

 _Where once your eyes held the light_

 _But that was so long ago_

 _That was last night_

 _Well, what was that?_

 _What's that sound that I hear?_

 _It's just my lifetime_

 _Its whistling past my ear_

 _And when I look back_

 _Everything seems smaller than life_

 _The way it's been for so long_

 _Since last night_

 _Now I'm leaving_

 _Any moment I'll be gone_

 _I think you'll notice_

 _I think you'll wonder what went wrong_

 _I'm not choosing_

 _But I'm running out of fight_

 _And this was decided so long ago_

 _It was last night"_

For the longest time, I thought this song referred to me. Even in the hospital as I lay in a coma, I believed it was a message from my parents, assisting me, telling me how to make the right decision. But I realize now, this song is not about me. It represents me in many ways: my lifetime is whistling by, yet it feels like only last night that I lost my parents and little brother. I fought the blackness, of the coma and death, I mean, I _survived._ But that's not what this song is really about. I'm still fighting the blackness, I guess, and I will as long as the light (of my parents and Teddy) is absent. But my life is not the song. I don't have to leave, I can keep my fight, I can find a new light. I have a family again— Adam and Charlie and Teddy. I'll forever wish that I had more years with my first light, and never will regret wishing to trade in my own years for Teddy, but I can't. I am happy. I have a reason to live. I owe it to my parents, Teddy, Teddy Jr., Charlie, and Adam. _Live for love._


End file.
